In the mind of one Sirius Black
by Xamceron
Summary: Sirius contemplates the colors red and brown, and why exactly he's sitting outside in the summer heat looking like he'd insulted a Hippogriff.


Second prompt. It's supposed to be "Tragedy and Family". I'm just hoping I've got enough "Tragedy". Of course, Sirius would probably agree with me about it being tragic, so there!

* * *

In the mind of one Sirius Black, numbers and colors and a fair number of other random things were often inexplicably linked. For example, when he was young, he often though the number 3 and the number 4 went together quite well – and it just so happened the color yellow went with the color green too. So through this thought process, the number 3 had become attached to the color yellow and the number 4 with the color green.

Now, Sirius had long since given up trying to explain this to people. The last time he tried, it was the summer before Hogwarts, when he was still somewhat attached to his mother. But of course, she'd deemed it silly and ridiculous, and had snapped at him, telling him to get back to work practicing his handwriting.

He'd put rat liver in her dinner that night.

At the current moment, Sirius Black was sitting on a park bench, in the middle of nowhere. Well, nowhere for Muggles, since for them it was just a homely little village. For Sirius it held more context than that, but he wasn't supposed to be there anyway. So he sat there, hunched over, with the sweltering sun bearing down on his back, and thanked Merlin he was only wearing a Muggle T-shirt and not a full set of robes.

As he watched, he felt a small trickle of warm liquid run down his cheek, pause on the edge of his chin, and drop to join the ever-growing pool of red at his feet.

Another two colors linked to each other, he mused to himself, were red and brown.

Red, the vivid color of freshly spilt blood, and brown, the rusty color of said blood when dried. But it went deeper than that, the link, it represented more than the different stages of blood. Red was one of the Gryffindor House colors; it represented courage and bravery, and everything Sirius was and wished to be. It represented loyalty and friends, and afternoons in the Common Room curled up against Remus while he read a book, and watched James clobber Peter in Gobstones. It meant Hogwarts.

Contrarily, brown reminded him of is family. Of old blood ties and pureblood politics, haughty, sneering faces and fake smiles and curses and hexes. It made him think of hurt and shame, and the words screamed and shouted at him, _disappointment shame DISGRACE NO SON OF MINE_-!

Sirius knew that, logically and artistically speaking, red and brown went together quite well, and were very similar actually. But, speaking from his heart and feelings, they were different. So, so different, and he knew that while he hadn't mentioned his linking of colors, no one would even understand him if he tried to explain this.

Red meant… home. It meant the Marauders, James, Peter and Remus… It meant safety and comfort, and caring and loving. Brown just meant hexes and curses and pain pain pain, and words like mudblood, and _half-breed_. Sirius supposes it was those two words that were the last straw on the dragon's back, or whatever that Muggle saying was.

The fact that Snape had told someone about Remus made Sirius want to strangle him, but the fact that it was Regulus made it even worse, because Regulus had told Mother and Father, and Sirius had just wanted to _scream. _ Then he went backwards through the chain and realized it was his fault in the first place for being the stupid idiot he was and telling Snape how to get past the Whomping Willow.

But hadn't done that thinking part right away because, being the Gryffindor he is, he'd jumped straight in without thinking and screamed his lungs out that he didn't _care_ who he was friends with, that blood purity _didn't matter_ and his parents could just take it all and go _shove it!_

The argument had gone on for ages, and by the time his Father had gotten enraged and pulled out his wand, Regulus looked as if he'd regretted telling them. But Sirius knew better. Regulus was nothing but the perfect child, the Brown child, while Sirius was the Red one. Regulus was everything his parents had ever wanted and he was no longer the little Reggie who followed him around and loved and admired him. So Sirius didn't _shut up! _when Regulus told him too, and he kept on screaming as his mother shrieked back, and when the first curse hit him, Sirius had realized that he was done.

Art could go screw itself. Red and brown didn't go together and it never would. And so, half an hour later, Sirius had thrown himself out the door with his trunk and everything he'd managed to grab in the short amount of time it'd taken his parents to follow his mad dash up the stairs to his room. Of course, on the way out, his mother had stopped off in the sitting room and Sirius had heard a loud CRACK, which gave away her action. He wasn't going to go back to check, but Sirius was pretty sure that she'd blasted his name off the family tree.

Which all led up to this moment.

Sirius, sitting on the _stupid, hard_ bench, trunk parked next to him, staring at the ground at the pool of blood dripping from one of the cuts on his face. Alone. Disowned.

Sighing, Sirius reached up and wiped his forehead with the edge of his T-shirt, wincing as the rough fabric brushed over the torn skin.

The heat had him sweating, and he was exhausted and thirsty and hungry, but he couldn't seem to make himself get up and walk down the street to that one house, that one house he knew was waiting for him, that would welcome him as soon as he stepped through the gate. He had walked through the night and early morning to get to Godric's Hollow, to James' house, in defense of his Red bravery and strength, just to have it desert him at the very end. He didn't have anywhere else to go though, so he would have to eventually gather the courage.

Sirius had one hand on his trunk and on hand resting on his knee. He knew he looked like hell. He hadn't taken a look in the mirrot lately, but he knew he was covered in cuts, scrapes and bruises, and he already had a few Muggles staring at him already. He'd seen a wizard too, who gazed at him curiously as they bustled by, but Sirius had kept his head down. He supposed he didn't have to, since he knew his parents wouldn't come looking for him. He supposed, really, he knew his parents didn't care for him, or even love him like they did Regulus. And while that was part of the reason he'd run away in the first place and would never go back there if he could help it, Sirius couldn't help but entertain the thought of his parents were worried for him.

He knew they weren't.

When the sun was high up in the sky and the blood that had been running down his face had clotted, Sirius finally pushed himself to his feet. He was unsteady at first, but managed to find a way to support himself on his trunk while pulling it along.

He didn't have to go far – it was only five houses down from the center, where he'd been sitting, at the base of a statue – but when he reached it, he immediately felt a wave of relief. He knew this house. He liked this house.

And best of all, the curtains and door were red.

So when Sirius knocked on the door, and James pulled it open, eyes widening and mouth falling open an impression of a goldfish and asking frantically _what the hell happened to you?_ Sirius smiled giddily at him. Of course, it might have been dehydration talking, but he couldn't help but thinking, taking in the Potter's warm red rug right inside the doorway, Red meant safe.

And while he just lost a family and had left behind everything that had meant anything to him for the first eleven years of his life, Sirius just smiled.

Red meant home. And Red meant family.

(And best of all, he thought to himself later on, laying on a cot next to James' bed enjoying the warm summer air, the Potter home was number 5 Godric's Hollow, while the Black home in London was number 12 Grimmauld place. The Potters were Red and the Blacks were Brown and everyone who knew _anything_ knew 5 had _nothing_ to do with 12.)

* * *

So that's it! I had to pull this together last minute because I was running out of time. I had originally started something a week ago, but gave it up and started again.

Oh and the colors and numbers thingy at the beginning is taken directly from me. My mind seriously thinks that 3 and 4 are yellow and green. It's messed up, but there you go.

Until next time!


End file.
